Herr Apparatchik defames Abascal. He’s a cholo chump out for the gold. Herr Apparatchik ignores Comrade Hanamaka’s lead. Hanamaka said the big boss is a “Mexican Stalinist.” Here’s a revised hunch. Abascal is that Stalinist.
The minutes go out. They are geared to spark two confrontations. Dudley versus Abascal, Dudley versus Gelb. Chaos intervenes. Dudley reads the minutes. They contradict breaking news. His wetbacks as saboteurs? Unknown to him? He might sense Salvador’s hand. He might sense Salvador as El Boss Führer. He might sense the document had been faked.
Chaos intervenes. Statie goons pop Dudley at his dope ranch. Dick Carlisle shot that dizzy dish to Lee Blanchard. Dudley called Jack Horrall. Chief Jack pulled strings and got him released. Dudley’s on the loose now. He’s a gone-rogue Army major. He’ll probably run to Constanza. He’ll be with her when the minutes arrive.
Herr Apparatchik. Née Comrade Ashida. He sent the minutes out precipitously. He demanded no money. He disregarded consequences. He’s culpable here.
Elmer’s culpable. Buzz is culpable. They should have reported the sabotage lead. Kay’s the most culpable. She’s their La Jefa and queen bee. She bends men who want to fuck her to her impervious will. She assessed him as a man who declines to fuck women and adroitly massaged his love for Dudley Smith. The minutes have gone out. Dudley will know that Comrade Ashida forged them. He has the skill. No one else does. Dudley will know that he betrayed him.
Chaos intervenes. They’re closing in on the klubhaus killer. It seems like small recompense. Jean Staley and brother Robby. Johnny Shinura, curio broker. Johnny’s the Jap sword man. Who’s the queer jazzman? Who’s the woman who got raped?
A clean solve looms. The details remain uncertain. Chaos may subsume all resolution. Winner take nothing — if he forfeits Dudley Smith’s love.
Nannies pushed strollers by. Vendors pushed food carts. Storm clouds whooshed overhead.
Blanchard nudged him. “You got tears in your eyes, Hideo.”
“I thought I could have something both ways, but I forgot to consider the price.”
“Welcome to the world, son. Our friend Kay taught me that selfsame thing, quite a while back.”
They walked and talked. Kezar to the rose garden, Stanyan Street to Fell. Ladies pushing strollers gawked them. It was relative size more than race.
Ashida was small and slight. Leander loomed high and blocked out the sun. Folks called him “Skyscraper” and the “One-Man Eclipse.”
He confirmed Dr. Death’s chronology. He confirmed the cabal’s chain of command. Salvy was the Stalinist and Top Dog Comrade. Meyer Gelb deferred to him.
Leander was affable. He worked as a longshoreman. He eschewed agitation and indulged a yen for 459 PC. He had a wife and kid here in Frisco and a wife and three kids in L.A. He kept in mail-drop touch with select comrades. He refused to name names.
They bought ice-cream bars and lounged on the grass. Blanchard lounged twenty yards back. He was the bodyguard. Ashida ran the Q & A.
“Hanamaka told me the gold has lain fallow for some time. Gelb and Abascal are the only ones who know where it is.”
Leander shook his head. “I’ve never known Comrade Kyoho to be mistaken about anything, but I think he’s wrong here. I think Wayne Frank and the Reverend Mimms might be able to give you a more recent accounting.”
“Why?”
“The Rev wanted to repo the gold, and I can’t say that I blame him. I’d call him the first man among us who wised up to the way life plain old is. He’d come to see the Kameraden as a bunch of treacherous shitbirds who’d blow the whole world up if they got half a chance. All that 1931 idealism and commitment got to be ancient history, and the Rev wanted his fair share of the gold, just like any other properly self-interested man in your run-of-the-mill democracy. He heard that the Sinarquistas and some of their satellite thugs were looking for a clubhouse rental, so he had Link Rockwell rent them the 46th Street place. Link stayed on and did some infiltration. The Rev figured Link might get some leads on the gold there, which he sure as hell did. He heard Salvy and Wayne Frank took hold of the gold, not Comrade Gelb. That’s as far as the Rev takes the story, because he always busts out laughing then.”
Ashida said, “That’s all you know? They took possession of the gold, and that’s it?”
Leander winked. “The Rev’s got the storytelling prowess. He can surely tell you more.”
Ashida let it go. Leander ran intractable. He held his hole cards tight.
“Jean Staley. Her brother, Robby. A Japanese curio peddler named Johnny Shinura. A purportedly homosexual jazz musician. He’s tall and blond, and he has a female companion, purportedly very nervous and roughly thirty years of age. The three klubhaus victims purportedly raped her.”
Leander tossed his ice-cream stick and wiped his hands on the grass. A stroller lady strolled by. She gawked the jig and the Jap.
“Jean’s brother was a homo, for what that’s worth. Johnny S. was bughouse crazy, but you must already know that. I don’t know any woman who got raped, but the jazz quiff has got to be Chuckie Duquesne.”
126
(Los Angeles, 9:00 A.M., 4/10/42)
Ruth practiced. She played Sibelius and lit the whole courtyard. He recognized composers now. He heard concerto strains out here on the street.
Elmer fought the jimjams. He’d had the sweats and frets since he got the word. Eight Kern County dead. Him and Buzz could have stopped it. They held it back and covered their backsides.
He sobbed to Kay and Hideo. He sobbed to Buzz. He sobbed himself into these frets. He sat in his sled and waited out Sibelius. Don’t interrupt Ruth. She’ll bite your head off. She’s caught the muse.
She fed her lovers cues. Morning practice meant Get Out. Elmer sat in his sled. He had a clear courtyard view. Some geek will exit her bungalow. Ruth sustained heavy bed traffic. Kay called her “relentless” and “egalitarian.”
Elmer fought the frets. He fretted up the Kern County dead and Meyer Gelb. Buzz found Comrade Meyer. Buzz conceived a bold approach and pin-mapped that shitheel.
The hump lived in L.A. The hump had to. The hump attended Otto Klemperer’s parties. He always arrived alone. Joan’s diary stated that. How’d Gelb get to the parties? Let’s try taxicabs.
Buzz called the Maestro. He laid out a line of officious shit and coaxed a list of party dates. He canvassed cab dispatchers then. He had the party dates and the Maestro’s address. He checked evening pickup logs for dates going back to Pearl Harbor. He checked sixteen cab companies. Company seventeen — tilt.
He tagged seven parties and seven pickups in Beverly Hills. The Simon’s Drive-in at Wilshire and Linden. It’s a neutral pickup spot. Comrade Gelb’s cautious. Comrade Gelb must live nearby.
Buzz tagged seven pickups. Buzz tagged the same hackie three of those times. Buzz braced the cat and lubed him. The hackie had good recollection. He remembered this guy. The guy had burn-scarred hands.
Buzz pounded pavement then. He made Gelb for an apartment-house dweller. The blocks south of Charleville were all house blocks. That restricted his range. He schlepped Wilshire to Charleville, Charleville to Beverly Drive. He entered apartment-house foyers. He scanned mailbox slots. He got no Meyer Gelbs and no hinky M.G.s. That approach tapped out. He ran block-to-block stakeouts then.